fellahs, you postboys! Don't stand rubbin' your knee there, you great fool.
What's this?" and he thrust his own hand into the place where the boy had just
been marauding.
In the old travelling carriages there used to be a well or sword-case, in which
travellers used to put swords and pistols in days when such weapons of defence
were needful on the road. Out of this sword-case of Lord Ringwood's old
post-chariot, Woolcomb did not draw a sword, but a foolscap paper folded and
tied with a red tape. And he began to read the superscription??"Will of the
Right Honourable John, Earl of Ringwood. Bradgate, Smith and Burrows."
"God bless my soul! It's the will he had back from my office, and which I
thought he had destroyed." My dear fellow, I congratulate you with all my
heart!' And herewith Mr. Bradgate the lawyer began to shake Philip's hand with
much warmth. "Allow me to look at that paper. Yes, this is in my handwriting.
Let us come into the Ringwood Arms??the Ram??anywhere, and read it to you!"
... Here we looked up to the balcony of the Ringwood Arms, and beheld a great
placard announcing the state of the poll at 1 o'clock.
Woolcomb 216 Hornblow 92
"We are beaten," said Mr. Hornblow, very goodnaturedly. "We may take our flag
down. Mr. Woolcomb, I congratulate you."
"I knew we should do it," said Mr. Woolcomb, putting out a little yellow-kidded
hand. Had all the votes beforehand??knew we should do the trick. I say. Hi!
you??Whatdoyoucallem??Bradgate! What is it about, that will? It does not do any
good to that beggar, does it?" and with laughter and shouts, and cries of
"Woolcomb for ever," and "Give us something to drink, your honour," the
successful candidate marched into his hotel.
And was the tawny Woolcomb the fairy who was to rescue Philip from grief, debt,
and poverty? Yes. And the old postchaise of the late Lord Ringwood was the fairy
chariot. You have read in a past chapter how the old lord, being transported
with anger against Philip, desired his lawyer to bring back a will in which he
had left a handsome legacy to the young man, as his mother's son. My lord had
intended to make a provision for Mrs. Firmin, when she was his dutiful niece,
and yet under his roof. When she eloped with Mr. Firmin, Lord Ringwood vowed he
would give his niece nothing. But he was pleased with the independent and
forgiving spirit exhibited by her son; and, being a person of much grim humour,
I daresay chuckled inwardly at thinking how furious the Twysdens would be, when
they found Philip was the old lord's favourite. Then Mr. Philip chose to be
insubordinate, and to excite the wrath of his great-uncle, who desired to have
his will back again. He put the document into his carriage, in the secret box,
as he drove away on that last journey, in the midst of which death seized him.
Had he survived, would he have made another will, leaving out all mention of
Philip? Who shall say? My lord made and cancelled many wills. This certainly,
duly drawn and witnessed, was the last he ever signed; and by it Philip is put
in possession of a sum of money which is sufficient to ensure a provision for
those whom he loves. Kind readers, I know not whether the fairies be rife now,
or banished from this work-a-day earth, but Philip's biographer wishes you some
of those blessings which never forsook Philip in his trials: a dear wife and
children to love you, a true friend or two to stand by you, and in health or
sickness, a clear conscience, and a kindly heart. If you fall upon the way, may
succour reach you. And may you, in your turn, have help and pity in store for
the unfortunate whom you overtake on life's journey.
Would you care to know what happened to the other personages of our narrative?
Old Twysden is still babbling and bragging at clubs, and though aged is not the
least venerable. He has quarrelled with his son for not calling Woolcomb out,
when that unhappy
difference arose between the Black Prince and his wife. He says his family has
been treated with cruel injustice by the late Lord Ringwood, but as soon as
Philip had a little fortune left him he instantly was reconciled to his wife's
nephew. There are other friends of Firmin's who were kind enough to him in his
evil days, but cannot pardon his prosperity. Being in that benevolent mood which
must accompany any leave-taking, we will not name these ill-wishers of Philip,
but wish that all readers of his story may have like reason to make some of
their acquaintances angry.
Our dear Little Sister would never live with Philip and his Charlotte, though
the latter especially and with all her heart besought Mrs. Brandon to come to
them. That pure and useful and modest life ended a few years since. She died of
a fever caught from one of her patients. She would not allow Philip or Charlotte
to come near her. She said she was justly punished for being so proud as to
refuse to live with them. All her little store she left to Philip. He has now in
his desk the five guineas which she gave him at his marriage; and J. J. has made
a little picture of her, with her sad smile and her sweet face, which hangs in
Philip's drawing-room, where father, mother, and children talk of the Little
Sister as though she were among them still.
She was dreadfully agitated when the news came from New York of Dr. Firmin's
second marriage. "His second? His third!" she said. "The villain, the villain!"
That strange delusion which we have described as sometimes possessing her
increased in intensity after this news. More than ever, she believed that Philip
was her own child. She came wildly to him, and cried that his father had
forsaken them. It was only when she was excited that she gave utterance to this
opinion. Doctor Goodenough says that though generally silent about it, it never
left her.
Upon his marriage Dr. Firmin wrote one of his long letters to his son,
announcing the event. He described the wealth of the lady (a widow from Norfolk,
in Virginia) to whom he was about to be united. He would pay back, ay, with
interest, every pound, every dollar, every cent, he owed his son. Was the lady
wealthy? We had only the poor doctor's word.
Three months after his marriage he died of yellow fever, on his wife's estate.
It was then the Little Sister came to see us in widow's mourning, very wild and
flushed. She bade our servant say, "Mrs. Firmin was at the door;" to the
astonishment of the man, who knew her. She had even caused a mourning-card to be
printed. Ah, there is rest now for that little fevered brain, and peace, let us
pray, for that fond, faithful heart.
The mothers in Philip's household and mine have already made a match between our
children. We had a great gathering the other day at Roehampton, at the house of
our friend Mr. Clive Newcome (whose tall boy, my wife says, was very attentive
to our Helen), and, having been educated at the same school, we sat ever so long
at dessert, telling old stories, whilst the children danced to piano music on
the lawn. Dance on the lawn, young folks, whilst the elders talk in the shade!
What? The ni
ght is falling: we have talked enough over our wine: and it is time
to go home? Good night. Good night, friends, old and young! The night will fall:
the stories must end: and the best friends must part.
William Makepeace Thackeray, The Adventures of Philip
(Series: # )
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